


Where the lost get found...

by coco_finny



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Coercion, Kidnapping, Mind Control, Other, Soul Harvesting, Victorian Circus AU, asgore is a bad person, bad times, help me, i guess, oh boy i did it, questionable goings on, sans is a bad person, soul manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coco_finny/pseuds/coco_finny
Summary: It wasn’t long before a pair of humans wandered close to one of his usual spots – he chose the places far from the grounds, where those who didn’t want to get caught up in the departing crowds would divert, shielded by dense trees and thick bushes where they believed they wouldn’t be followed, or seen…They sounded like the well-to-do folk from the pricy side of town – their type tented to gravitate towards the circus eventually, following the heels of the lower class to sate their morbid curiosity.Instantly, he knew which human would be his target.





	Where the lost get found...

**Author's Note:**

> welp
> 
> i did it
> 
> i had to, im so sorry! i just needed to write this before i forgot it!!
> 
> based on [this!](https://cocofinny.tumblr.com/post/180626139898/hoooooooooooh-boy-ive-been-listening-to-the)

_-_

_Taking your breath,_

_Stealing your mind,_

_And all that was real is left behind._

The Greatest Show - **The Greatest Showman**

**-**

It wasn’t long before a pair of humans wandered close to one of his usual spots – he chose the places far from the grounds, where those who didn’t want to get caught up in the departing crowds would divert, shielded by dense trees and thick bushes where they believed they wouldn’t be followed, or seen…

Sans remained perfectly still behind the thick oak, crouched low by the trunk, preparing himself for the possibility of having to emerge from his hiding place to intercept the wandering humans. As they drew closer, snippets of their conversations reached him.

They sounded like the well-to-do folk from the pricy side of town – their type tented to gravitate towards the circus eventually, following the heels of the lower class to sate their morbid curiosity.

Sadly, that made them a little more high profile. They may be the new-money type, but if they were well known among high society…

Perhaps they were not the best target, but they were the first humans to cross him all evening. The chill of the night didn’t bother his bones one bit, but a bed was far more comfortable than a patch of grass and a tree stump.

And he had other places to be. 

“– and weren’t those acrobats wonderful?” an enthralled voice was saying. Female…

“Yes, yes,” a second voice answered, gruff, non-committal – male, possibly a husband.

Instantly, he knew which human would be his target. 

Their voices became louder, slowly approaching his shadowed oak. He tensed, ready to spring. Warmth spread through his limbs as his magic coiled at his fingertips, prepared to mould itself to his will – he still had plenty of strength left. He was careful to never exhaust himself during his act – he let Papyrus dazzle the crowd with his magic, while he dropped a pun here and there, the occasional visual gag to elicit a titter of laughter– in order to keep his reserves high for situations like this.

“I thought they were delightful,” the woman chattered away.

“Darling, they were spiders,” the husband replied, sounding somewhat distracted. “You’ve never liked spiders.”

They were soon close enough that he could feel the small pulses of their souls; one was greatly unsettled, flaring erratically and spitting with ire – a rather brave soul, but clearly prone to heated outbursts, stubborn, prickly…

The other was sparkling with unbridled joy, emitting pleasant waves that warmed his bones, soothing the fractures of his empty soul – kindness…the easily influenced. His target.

“Oh, but they were fantastic!” the woman exclaimed cheerfully. “I shall never harm another spider again!”

The man grumbled. “Of course you won’t, dear…”

He’d have to get rid of the husband – he’d clearly attended the show only to please his wife, and wouldn’t be so easily swayed by a few magic tricks…

Their voices grew closer.

“Oh, and that fish woman!” the wife continued. “Wasn’t she frightening? But so talented! Darling, how do you think she made those spears?”

“I wouldn’t know, dear…and please don’t say the word _spears_. It’s far too sharp a word to be heard from a lady’s tongue.”

The woman only laughed. “No-one is around to hear us! And that automaton! What an ingenious piece of machinery… Why, he was walking and talking like a real person! And had the voice of an angel!”

“Please, darling…” The husband sounded weary. “You’re becoming far too excitable. It wouldn’t… Oh, blast it!”

“What is it, dear?”

The couple halted metres from the oak tree, and the husband huffed something Sans couldn’t quite catch.

“That wretched attendant forgot to return my hat,” he then spat.

The wife giggled. “Darling, how did you get this far without realising that you were missing your hat?”

“Idiot creature,” the husband muttered, and something vile twisted deep within Sans’s soul. “I shall have to go back for it. Hopefully the crowds will have dispersed by now…”

There’s a shuffling, and the wife said, “Do be nice to him, dear. He did seem a little nervous, the poor thing.”

The kindness of the woman’s soul was almost too sweet – a tinge of guilt struck Sans in the chest, but he brushed it off. His job didn’t have room for a whit of sentimentality.

“Well, if we hurry, perhaps we can catch members of the troupe before the tent closes,” the wife added.

Tensing, Sans rose from his crouch ever so slightly, all of his weight on the balls of his feet. Curling his fingers, the magic flowed into his palm and sparked in his eye, thrumming like the deep vibrations of a war drum, ready to let loose…

He would have preferred not to have used force; it was far too much effort, too much worry…but a quick knock would send the husband crumbling to the ground, and in a panic, the wife would seek help…

And Sans would answer.

The husband’s next words, however, gave him pause. “Yes, I suppose if I hurry…”

The wife made an incredulous noise. “While _you_ hurry? And I am supposed to wait here, am I?”

Luck was certainly on his side tonight. Grinning, Sans relaxed, reigning in his magic until the frantic buzz reverted to a dull hum. He settled onto the grass, propped up by the trunk of the oak, and folded his hands behind his head.

“I shan’t be long, darling,” the husband said apologetically. “Just…wait by that tree, there, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“Would I slow you down, dear?” The wife’s voice took on a slightly bitter edge.

“No, no,” the husband hurried to placate her. “But, darling, you must have had so much excitement, you must be exhausted.”

The woman’s soul pulsed sadly, and it was rather pitiful to feel. But she acquiesced, as any kind soul would.

So weak…so easily manipulated…

“Yes, dear,” she said – the carefree lilt to her voice expertly disguised the sadness of her soul that, were Sans not so sensitive to them, he would have missed as swiftly as her husband had.

There was the soft peck of lips on skin, and the husband’s quick footsteps hurried on back to the events tent, leaving his poor wife alone.

With Sans.

He would have to thank Burgerpants for his floundering with the man’s effects later – and if Mettaton was still giving him grief, then it would be a while before the husband returned to the oak tree with his recovered hat…

The wife huffed, followed by the rustle of skirts and grass approaching the tree. The dejection fluttering about her soul was quickly chased away by a flare of joy as she sought to distract herself with memories of the show.

He waited several moments for the wife to lose herself in the memories of the performance – every now and then her soul would spark with excitement, recalling a particularly entertaining skit; and then that bright light would dim when her husband’s dismissive words would taint the pleasant daydream.

Oh, this would be far too easy – now all he needed to do was give that final push…

Time to strike. He shifted just enough to rouse a sound, to catch the wife’s attention, and he closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

It didn’t take long for her to find him. Her cautious footsteps edged around the tree…then there was the soft intake of breath, the noticeable jump and flare of her soul upon discovering him.

Sans didn’t stir, drawing out the act – he even threw in a few soft snores. The thrill that was sending the woman’s soul into a frenzy was like the call of a siren. He longed to pull it from her chest, to feel it wrap around his fingers desperately, clinging to him, while her body crumpled to the grass, boneless.

But a soul is easier to sever from its vessel when it’s willing, and to leave the body would be careless. So after several more moments of false slumber, he said;

“You want an autograph, or somethin’?” 

The woman gasped, staggering back in a rustle of thick skirts. Plastering on a grin, Sans cracked one eye open to inspect her.

She had a hand clasped to her breast in fright, her eyes wide, with the tiniest hint of recognition glowing within them, and face drained of colour – she was rather pretty, for a human. But what far outweighed her beauty was that fluttering cluster of love, compassion, and hope encased within her chest.

 _That_ was his goal.

“I-I do beg your pardon!” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to disturb you…”

Sans only chuckled – a harmless sound. “S’no problem.”

The woman took a few steadying breaths, and the colour gradually returned to her cheeks. “You…you are a member of the circus?”

Making a show of carefully inspecting himself, Sans replied, “That or I’m dead.”

A nervous laugh trickled past the woman’s lips. “”I’m sorry, I…I absolutely loved your performance!” she practically squawked.

Oh, she did – her soul was almost burning at the memory. “Heh, thanks.”

Slowly, Sans uncurled from his slouch against the trunk, standing to his full height – his forehead only just passed her chest, but he was never one to let his height bother him; he was one of the smaller members of the troupe. It worked well in his double act, being the short, funny one, alongside Papyrus, who was a giant by monster standards, towering a good few inches over Asgore, who himself was a beast…

The woman was watching him in awe, her eyes sparkling with fascination.

Sans bit back the wild grin threatening to pull at his cheeks – his magic hadn’t even touched her yet, and she was already wrapped around his little finger. In response, it hummed ever so slightly, heating his ribs.

With a sweep of his hand, Sans dipped into a bow.

“Sans the skeleton,” he said. “At your service, ma’am.”

“O-oh,” the woman stammered. “How lovely to meet you, Mr Skeleton.”

 _Mister Skeleton_. Angel, the name made him sound old…

He rose from his bow. “You ain’t out here all alone, are you?”

“Oh, heavens no!” the woman replied with a musical laugh. “My husband should be along shortly.”

“Hmm, ‘kay.” Sans stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Want me to keep you company ‘til he comes back?”

The woman’s face darkened in a noticeable flush. Her eyes roamed over his body, fascination palpable on her face – probably wondering what’s holding him all together. She wasn’t the first human to look at him that way. His appearance alone usually enamoured the children in particular, but they were usually accompanied by a wary adult, a tight grip always on their shoulders. Funny that they were the easier prey to ensnare, and yet the most difficult – they had the purest souls, perfect specimens for harvesting…

Thankfully, this woman’s soul seemed barely tainted by hate – probably lived a very sheltered life, spoiled by her father, then her husband…

“I-if you wouldn’t mind,” she eventually said, glancing back over her shoulder for her returning husband. “It’s rather dark out here.”

“Sure thing.” Swinging back onto his heels, Sans leaned against the tree, adopting a relaxed posture. “So…you enjoy the show?”

The woman’s face lit up. “Oh, yes! It was incredible!”

Sans chuckled. “Yeah? What’d you like the best?”

The woman thought for a moment, then smiled. “The automaton! His singing was lovely! Tell me…how on earth does he move like that? All of the automaton’s I’ve ever seen were so…mechanical…”

“Eh…he’s powered by magic,” Sans said with a shrug – Mettaton was usually the grand show-stopper, charming people with his impossibly flexible body.

“Ah, of course,” the woman said with a knowing grin. “Oh! And your brother…” The woman hesitated. “He, ah…is your brother, yes?”

Sans’s grin twitched wider. “Uh-huh. Papyrus. He’s my bro.”

The woman clapped with delight. “You were both so amazing! Your brother…Papyrus was so entertaining. And gracious, I couldn’t stop laughing! My husband scolded me one or twice for snorting.” The woman fixed him with an accusing glare, but it was playful. “Can you imagine that? A refined lady, snorting! I hope you’re happy, Mr Skeleton!” 

Sans shrugged. “S’my job, ma’am. Gotta be _humorous_ , y’know?” 

The woman laughed. “And the…um…what should I call him? He was a horse, but also a fish…?”

“Heh…you mean Aaron? Yeah, we don’t know what to call him. I call him a sea-horse.”

It took the woman a moment, but once the joke registered, she let out a shrill squeak of laughter. “Yes! I suppose that’s appropriate!”

Her soul pulsed warmly, and Sans fought the unbearable urge to reach out with his magic and latch onto it. He would have the opportunity soon…

“Yes…he was magnificent! He lifted those weights as if they were nothing!”

“Yep. He gives Undyne a run for her money.”

“Undyne? The fish woman? Oh! Could you tell me how she makes those spe–” The woman paused. “Ah…”

“Spears? Oh, sure.” Sans withdrew his hands from his pockets and wiggled his fingers dramatically, lowering his voice to a mysterious sounding whisper. “Magic.”

The woman relaxed. “Of course…magic.” There was obvious longing in her voice…

Sans’s bones began to tremble at the increasing thrumming of his magic. “You wanna see?”

The woman’s brow furrowed. “See what?”

With a wink that made her blush deeply, Sans brandished his hand, palm upturned and fingers open as if ready to catch a falling object. The warm, buzzing magic flowed down his arm, tingling at his fingertips, emitting a faint glow.

The woman let out an _oh!_ of surprise, and, smile widening, Sans pulled his hand down, allowing his magic to pull one of Papyrus’s props from within the cold void. The bone slipped through the freezing nothingness, right into his waiting hand, and it glowed an ethereal cyan with the residue magic. The air about them hummed softly, as gentle as a weak breeze.

And while the woman was utterly entranced by the display, Sans reach out inquisitive tendrils of his magic to brush against her erratic soul – she barely noticed, too occupied with what was happening with what she could see, rather than feel. 

“Gracious…” she breathed. She reached out an inquisitive hand. “May I?”

That would only make his job easier. “Go ahead.”

The woman touched a tentative finger to the magically summoned bone, and Sans urged his magic to take advantage of the contact, snaking up her arm towards her soul, and within seconds, he had a nice, firm grip around it…

“It feels so real!” the woman exclaimed.

Sans laughed. “It _is_ real. Hey…watch…”

He stepped back, and pulled another bone through the void. Then another…then another. The air became alive with his magic, and under its cover, Sans reached out for the woman with bolder tendrils.

Completely unaware of the strengthening grip around her soul, she watched on, clapping with joy.

“Heh, that’s not all, sweetheart,” Sans said.

The woman frowned at the pet name…but instantly, Sans sent a pulse of reassurance through the secure connection he had made, fitted tightly around her soul.

_See? Everything’s perfectly fine._

And she relaxed.

It was risky – souls usually didn’t surrender so fast – but he dared another slight push. _In fact…you like being called that, don’t you?_

The woman relaxed further, and her soul responded to him. Yes…of course she did. Her husband had never called her that, though…

_Your husband’s not here, is he?_

No…he wasn’t…

He knew that he had her. Just a little more…

He began juggling the props. It was a simple trick, but it didn’t matter at that point – he tossed them with ease, alternating between standing on one foot, hopping from side to side, then closing his eyes, juggling one handed…

The woman loved every moment, settling herself on the grass by the trunk of the oak tree, and watched with awe. She laughed, she clapped, she _ooh_ ed and _aah_ ed…

More of Sans’s magic latched onto her soul, strengthening the bond.

…until her claps became weak, her laughter became soft, and her coos of adoration became little more than the occasional breath.

The feeling was usually what made this job so much easier – the intoxicating sensation of a soul responding to him was like the blissful high of a drag from a hookah. Experimentally, he tugged at the magic encasing it, and the woman gasped…but she quickly relaxed again.

Emboldened, Sans stopped juggling and approached the woman, sending rapid waves of calm and reassurance to her through the magical bond. She didn’t stir, not even when he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes with the end of a bone.

“Whaddaya think?” he asked.

He tilted her head back further, and when her soul jerked in warning, he latched on with another tendril, sending another strong pulse rocketing through it.

 _Everything’s gonna be just fine_. “Pretty amazing, huh?” he asked, snaking forth another invisible ribbon of magic.

“Oh, yes,” the woman breathed.

The tendril of magic slowly curled around her complacent soul. _You’re gonna have a real good time._

After slipping the bones back into the void, he held out a hand for the woman to take.

“So…” he said with a grin that Asgore had once referred to as _devilish_ , “…you wanna see where the real magic happens?” 

The woman hesitated, her glassy eyes gazing up at him with a far-away look.

Sans wrapped that final tendril around her soul and _pulled_.

The woman slipped a weak hand into his waiting palm.

“Yes…” she breathed. 

-

There was something both unsettling and addicting about being within the proximity of so many souls. The new addition to the vast collection still retained it’s strong glow, warmth radiating from the swirling mass, but it submitted to Asgore’s hold as he tethered it in place, joining its many siblings.

“Beautiful,” he murmured sadly.

Sans watched from afar, leaning in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

Asgore’s tent was by far the largest, the most lavish of the entire troupe, hidden deep within the magical labyrinth of the grounds. It had three sections to it; one for sleeping, one for dressing, and one for lounging about.

But there was a fourth section that only Sans knew about, and only he was allowed to enter – where dozens of souls hung from the rafters by ribbons of magic, and the wilder, more erratic ones were locked within iron cages, pilled up in the corners of the tent. 

Asgore released the bound soul and lowered his head, leaning heavily on the nearby desk, shoulders tense.

“Thank you.” His voice was a deep, soft rumble, filled with grief.

It hurt to hear the misery in his voice, but Sans said plainly, “Eh, s’nothin’.”

Asgore sighed deeply. “Perhaps…perhaps, one day, there will be no need for this.”

He’d heard this spiel too many times before. “Maybe, yeah.” 

Asgore only sighed again, keeping his back to Sans. One would have thought, since he had long given up doing his own dirty work, Asgore would have retained his backbone, but no…it had only gotten weaker and weaker.

An ugly feeling stirred within Sans’s chest – now _he_ was the lacky, and yet Asgore continued to act as though each soul he was brought had been delivered by his own, blood-stained hand.

Still, the poor guy was hurting. “You gonna be ok, Azz?”

Asgore only nodded.

Sans knew a dismissal when he saw one, so with that, he turned and trudged out of the secret tent, leaving Asgore to torture himself with his own misery. He could stay and offer his reassurances to the ringleader, like he had done so many times before, but it never changed anything. It never deterred Asgore from his morbid quest.

“Sans…” Asgore’s hollow mumble stopped him just as he reached the tent’s entrance.

He paused and turned to face Asgore’s back once more. “Yeah?”

It took Asgore several attempts to summon the words. “I…I’m so sorry that you have to do this…”

It didn’t bother him, really – he rather enjoyed it on occasions, when he felt the wonderful pulses of life from the souls mingling with his magic, fuelling his bones, soothing the wounds on his own, withered soul…and when he ripped the souls from the chests of the vilest of humans who had nought a single drop of love nor compassion in their body.

“You know,” Asgore continued, “I’m certain there will come a day where this…” He gestured to all the hanging souls, pulsing with their beautiful warm lights. “…will end.”

Sans gazed up at the dozens of beautiful, glowing souls. Asgore had said that many times before, with same unwavering conviction, but that day hadn't come yet.

And Sans had the feeling that it wouldn't for a long, _long_ time.

Asgore seemed to mistake his silence as impatience. “Sorry…you may go, if you’d like.”

Sans spun on his heel and continued on towards the entrance of the tent. “You’re the boss, boss.” 

Short and sweet – he’d wasted enough time in the past trying, and failing, to prove to Asgore that this job didn’t need to be so abhorred.

And he had other places to be.

Papyrus tended to get cranky without his bedtime story, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont even know why i just really wanted to! ^^;
> 
> also i didnt check it thoroughly cuz it was a fun little drabble! so sorry if there are any mistakes!
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


End file.
